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This is a question Well, that taught 'em

Sammi Evil Nice writes "I shared with two students, and it was always the same; whenever it was near to paytime, my milk *and only this* would disappear.

One of them, John, was a lovely bloke but allergic to nuts. John makes tea. Soon after, John starts swelling up.

ME: Runs, administers epi-pen. "You're going into anaphalactic shock."
HIM: "How do you know?"
ME: "I put almond oil in my milk."

What have you done to teach somebody a lesson?

(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 14:54)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Chock Full O' Nuts
This story happened about two years ago in my senior year of high school. I wasn't at all the cool jock type, but rather the veteran of the band, choirs, and musicals (and somehow not gay, I swear). So I did get a fair amount of harassment from some of the jocks, one of which was actually in the choir. Emmett, for that was his name, was a six-and-a-half foot tall, three hundred pound mammoth of a boy who ended up going to an NCAA Division 1-A college for (American) foorball. But he was also a colossal dick. So I had always planned on getting revenge on him in some manner, but realized that it could never be a physical confrontation.

Luckily, I got my chance. Toward the end of that school year a group of us in the choir got back from an off-campus concert, some of these people decided to buy coffee at Dunkin Donuts (Emmett was one of them). Being a big dumb fuck he set his fresh cup of coffee on a ledge in the band room and left to use the restroom. Seeing my chance, I grabbed the cup and moved into a practice room. Taking off the plastic lid, I unzipped my trousers and (carefully) dipped my testicles into the beverage. By the way, it was fresh coffee, so it was hot in a way similar to stepping into a hot tub after being in the pool. I came out of the practice room, replaced the coffee, and refused to answer my friends as to what I did to the coffee.

A few minutes later Emmett comes back in, grabs his coffee, and takes a sip. My friends watch in amazement, realizing the coffee was somehow tainted, but never say a word. After Emmett leaves they again ask me what I did to the coffee. All I could say was "I hope he likes hazelnut."

Moral of the story: Don't fuck with the honor student/music geek.
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 6:52, Reply)
Hmm, timely
Just this morning, actually. Turned up yesterday in my usual walking-zombie before-coffee state, only to happen across a large player-type who desperately needed a touch of IT support.

"You're the computer bloke, yeah?"
"Got an urgent problem I need you to fix..."

Go for a wander and survey the situation. Then inform him that he is quite capable of moving his own monitor to the other side of the desk. Much chuckling from the other two player-types in the room ensues.

"See, I told you he was lazy!" Heh heh, laughs all around.

Better laughs this morning though. Turns out his swipe card wouldn't let him into the car park. Or the building. Or his office.

Heh heh...
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 6:41, Reply)
Very, Very sad
I found out that my girlfriend had snogged another bloke and at 16 it felt like she had reached inside my chest, ripped out my still beating heart, set it on fire with methylated spirits and stamped it out wearing football boots. I was a bit gutted.

So my devious and cunning revenge?

I deleted the bloke who she snogged off her MSN list.

HAHAHAHA victory is mine!
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 3:19, Reply)
and another
Just remembered one more. We used to play one up on eachother at work all the time. I used to work in email and it started by faking eachothers email addresses and inviting the whole team out for drinks or spamming eachother with fake subsriptions to gay prawn sites or NAMBLA etc.
There were several of us and it seemed a good way to keep up morale (I was boss - and a bloody great one!).
One guy and myself would occasionally get into a bit of a war with it, but all in good humour.
Here's a few I can remember.

Sello taping over the mouse ball (so it doesn't work) and the earpeice of the phone.
Changing your caller ID (that only the outgoing number see's - you don't) to various things - Gandalf, Tom Cruise, Gaylord Fokker, Shirley and shaggy are only a few of hundreds that I can rememeber.
Everyone had two PC's, so we'd swap the keyboard and mouse cables over.
Putting weightlifting weights into someones rucksack. We added one a day for three days before he realised. The guy lived near Brighton and worked in London and had been carrying it there and back every day. After he went nuts over that we started adding tech manuals (you could beat an ox to death with some of them). After he started checking the main pocket of the bag each day before leaving, we stared filling up all the other pockets with paperclips, nuts and bolts etc. He left soon after that.
Setting Windows to play that bloody awful frog thing on start up, then with every window activation, every application startup and every notification.
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, setting it to be the desktop picture and then deleting all the real icons. Took ages to figure out the first time!
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, then printing it out in colour and taping it to the glass behind the anti-glare screen.
Whilst the victim was on holiday, spending a casual two weeks creating a sculpture with their chair danging over the desk using about 600 elastic bands, creating a web-like effect all round the desk. The overall effect was like a web that dangled from the ceiling and engulfed the entire desk and it's contents. It was a work of art.
One guy (who wasn't on our team) received an anonymous package every few weeks containing all sorts of crap that had been lying around our desks. Screws, bits off of broken pda, cables, all manner of crap. We used to keep an internal envelope for anything we didn't think we needed anymore and, when it was full, send it to him. We could see his desk from ours and would get great joy out of seeing him go slowly mad over who was doing this.
We did this for eight years. They still do it now in my honour (I'm not there anymore).

One time, late on a Friday before going away for two weeks I was there on my own waiting for a call. I was bored, so taped over this guys phone and mouse, then changed his keyboard settings to be French etc.
I forgot all about this when I got back, cos of the superb holiday I'd had. When I returned, he was away for two weeks - so by the time I saw him again I'd totally forgotten all about it.
Anyway, about a week later we're down the pub and he tells me.
He'd seen my umbrella lying on the desk, so had opened it up and filled the inside with the contents of several hole punchers and as much ripped up tissue paper as he could fit. Then he'd wrapped it back up and put it back on my desk. He'd assumed that whilst he was on holiday, I'd been out in the rain and been had by the trick. Except I hadn't.
The day before, he'd worked late and it was pissing down as he wanted to leave. Not having his own umbrella with him, he grabbed mine ran outside and opened it up.
Yep, had by his own trick. It took him ten minutes to explain this to me as he was laughing so hard that snot was coming out of his nose.
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 1:29, Reply)
Shit the bonnet
Last year in my gorgeous student flat, 4 others and I lived with a girl called Kirsten*. First year of Uni with the girl was an absolute breeze, but as second year came around and we all decided to live together, it was clear how much of a twazzock she really was. During our yearlong stay, she decided to 'go off' meat, open her legs for anything, and if no-one was listening to her constant stream of downright LIES, begin shouting. One night her and her new boyfriend were staying at his house, so the rest of us invited a few mates around for a poker night. Green felt, Red Stripe and 97p cards ahoy! Someone got onto the subject of Kirsten, and how we all hated her. Some bright spark had the idea of putting a lovely big steak under her bedsheets, or changing her Quorn for proper sausages, but the conversation soon started to die off. Meanwhile my bowels were rumbling, it was time for a number 2. As left the room, I jokingly remarked, 'this shit would look so much better on Kirstens bonnet'. Quick as a flash my flatmate stood up, dragged me by the arm down the outside steps and pointed at her car. So, without hesitation, and with a few tins running through my bloodstream, i squatted. The next thing I really remember is the next morning. Her boyfriend comes into our flat absolutley livid. It turns out it had snowed overnight. And all that could be seen of my evacuated bowels was a small brown crest at the top of a pile of snow. Apparently, as they came home from the previous night, the boyfriend spotted the mini mountain on her bonnet, and assumed it was a mound made by someone makin snowballs. He then proceded to 'brush' it off her bonnet. What I would have given to see his face, as his bare hand uncovered a perfect coil of my home-made frozen bum-log. Weeks afterwards, Kirsten* continued to tell people that someone was after her, and the police were on the case because she was sure she was a target (for what?). A private lesson that she didn't receive i guess, but nevertheless it made our stay there more pleasurable, as the lie-machine went into overdrive, and we just sniggered to ourselves.

*100% accurate
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 1:24, Reply)
School days...
Never trust the school bully with your life! I thought he might have had an ounce of compassion (even though aged 12) and not dropped the 5-a-side football goalposts onto my prone, shocked body.

I wasnt even playing football! I was playing Kick Rounders (rounders but with a football) with the girls. I was fielding and the ball was kicked up over my head, so i turned and started running for it. As I had done a complete 180 degrees, my head went SMACK into the crossbar of the football goalposts. Being a small country school, it couldnt afford a couple of bolts to keep the posts upright, so they started to fall. It was caught by a guy called Nick and i gave a HUGE sigh of relief (while dazed from nearly knocking myself out!). The bully, Aaron, decided that I was interrupting their game and pushed Nick, making the goal posts drop onto my stomach. Lots of pain!

I remember opening my eyes with Aaron trying to push me away with his feet so he could go back to hacking at other kids ankles!

I wasn't allowed to go swimming that day due to the egg-sized lump on my forehead and bruised ribs... I was mad. I was supposed to getting my 25m badge that day! GRRR!!

Let this be a lesson. Never trust a bully to not cause you even more pain than you're already in!
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 0:49, Reply)
thought long and hard before posting this...
because i'm still not sure how i feel about what i did...

and i apologise in advance for the length...

many moons ago, whilst betrothed to the 1st mrs blaireau (we eventually got divorced, i'm married again and totally happy with 2nd mrs blaireau and 5 month old wee baby blaireau), she and i took it upon ouselves, whilst visiting her mother for christmas, to meet her estranged father (neil) and his whore (carol) for a "bridge building pint"...

what a fucking mistake that turned out to be!!!

leaving the pub in jolly mood we accepted their invite for a nightcap chez slapper. and things deteriorated rapidly from there...

once back in her own territory she turned feral and mental in equal measure, instigating a barney of large proportions which resulted in neil (a 40 year old hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting brick shit-house of a farmer) using my body as a battering-ram on the back door. quite literally!

so we left. duh.

and as we slunk off down the road i silently vowed revenge. well not so silently actually. i screamed "i'm gonna get you, you psycho cunt".
and believe me, dear reader when i tell you that i did...

6 or so months later the future 1st mrs blaireau's mother had got her divorce through and we went to help her move out of the family home to make way for the happy couple to play at families, giving blaireau (a plumber and hero of this tale) the opportunity to exact his revenge.

a wee bit of house sabotage was carried out, specifically...

1) a bag of bones and offal in the loft (courtesy of the workers at the slaughterhouse where i did my meat-inspection training when i was a student eho years ago).

2) took all the lightbulbs into the garage and smashed them against the inside of the door. also took all of the fuses out of all the appliances (including the alarm system).

3) pissed (6 times in total over 1 1/2 days) all over 3 or 4 boxes of business and personal papers.

4) loosened the electrical connections in the 2 electric showers. this would cause arcing and possibly fire!! or at least premature unit failure.

5) closed all the radiator valves so tightly that most of the spindles sheared off. none of these valves would ever be opened again. also removed the bleed-valve screws from all the rads. also sheared off the spindle of the mains stop-tap under the sink and the one in the street outside before filling the hole in the pavement with neat cement.

6) drained the hot water and central heating system before loosening all the check-nuts i could find, so when refilled a million leaks would magically appear.

7) removed screws from door hinges before carefully shutting the door. a wee present for the next person to open the door...

8) sprinkled salt inside the expensive recessed light fittings in the 2 bathrooms. salt is hydroscopic and ionic i.e. it draws water from the air leading to lots of corrosion.

9) took the washers out of all the taps.

10) super-glued all the locks (including the alarm system, again) (5 tubes!!)

and the one that clinched the deal...

11) pulled the sky dish cable through the wall about 4 inches, cut it with pliers and glued it all back in place with a nice blob of mastic, ensuring the cable ends were pushed hard up against each other so there was at least some signal, but not a whole lot.

as it turned out neil "bit the big one" a few months later, from a heart attack, whilst watchin tv.

from the day he moved back into the house he had apparently complained about the shitty reception. i'm sure there was a connection...

that fooking well tought him, aye???

length? more than he could handle, it would appear...

if you think i went too far then click "i like this!"...
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 0:28, Reply)
My sister & I didn't get on as kids,
& when one day she pissed me off too much, I pissed in her bed.

My mum made me sleep in it. I'm not sure who learnt what.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 23:25, Reply)
This is a 100% true story.
I was sit with a bunch of friends, and said "pull my finger" to one of them. He did, and we had to evacuate the room. It was 30 minutes before the stench went.

That showed 'em.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 23:13, Reply)
My mom taught me all right...
When I was little I went through a weird phase where I wouldn't eat the generic brand of sweet pickles. This was weird because I never had problems with them before. For some reason, I remember them suddenly tasting gross, though the brand name ones were pretty much exact. Anyway, my mom decided to teach me some sort of lesson. She cleverly switched labels on the brand name and generic jars. Later on, she promptly handed me one from the assumed brand name jar. I ate it without a fuss, not knowing she had changed the label. It, of course, tasted exactly like the expensive ones. After I ate it, she let me in on the secret. I realized that generic pickles weren't so bad after all! From that day on, I ate the generics and liked them (just as I had in the past.)
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 23:00, Reply)
Full Fat
Fairy similar to the example question, but one of my housemates got fed up with people drinking his milk, so he got his girlfriend to wank him off into his 2pt of semi skimmed. The guys who had been drinking it weren't too happy.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 22:54, Reply)
Lessons learned from the dentist
You should have thought I learned my lesson the first time I ran teeth-first into a rail, but no, not many moons later I trip over my own feet and break more teeth. Both times the dentist at my school does a great job and gives me new plastic-ones...

Great plastic-ones that is, the first impact was on September 16, 1993. Why I know the exact date? Because a few years ago (september 2003) I first notice som black lines on the teeth, where the plastic and the real tooth meets.

Que me to the dentist who looks at it and informs me it should be redone, this time with porcelain and not plastic. He promises to contact the insurance, and come back to me later. A year later I leave town to go to uni, and still no word from him. I then contact another dentist in my new town, who in 3 days has talked to the insurance, who then sends me a nice letter informing me that they are willing to pay the "operation", estimated cost? 961.64£!!

First lesson learned: Always have insurance, and have your kids covered too...

I am sure glad that my mother didn't have to learn that the hard way.

Anyway, next lesson was today. The dentist said: "we need to make an appointment so i can make impressions of your teeth" what he meant was:

"I'm gonna sedate you, file off the plastic - and some of your own teeth, so the are appr. at half their normal length. Then i will find out i will have to push your gum back to make room (and do it where the sedation hasn't kicked in), then give you a temporary plastic-cover and send you home" that lasted 1½ hour...

cue me 2 hours later when the sedation wears off... Imagine the worst possible pain, like, when your teeth has been filed off, your gums pushed back - and filed a little by accident. That's me...

So kids, gather around and learn a few lessons:

Don't run when your teeth are at the same height of the rail.

Don't believe your dentist when he tries to be your friend, he's a sadistic evil bastard who wants to inflict most possible pain.

2 aspirins and two hours of sleep takes care of your toothaches...

lengt? yeah, but its only plastic i'm afraid...
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 21:58, Reply)
Life's a bitch called wanda!?!?!
One of my mates once pissed me off so much that i eventually signed him up for flute lessons, thinking that it was the gayest instrument that a guy can learn, turns out that the joke is on me, he is quite good, went to uni and majored in it and all,

Lesson: don't bother coz it'll always backfire! :(
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 20:35, Reply)
My brother
Otherwise known as GoodLookingDeity.

When he was about 2 he thought he would help out with the ironing, but only managed to place a hot piece of metal on his hand. He still has the scar...

He also once ran into the kitchen and managed to stand on a dead bee, which apparently had its sting out. Yes, he got himself stung by a dead bee.

A few years after the iron incident, he thought he would help out again. Only, this time he claimed that I had shat myself and told me to go into the bathroom. He followed me in and told me to pull my trousers down - I did so. I also proceeded to let off the longest, loudest fart that I had ever let off in my life. I don't think I've bettered it since then either.

Now it's my turn.
Fairly recently my brother tried to sneak into my room, whilst I was sleeping. Little did he know, I was actually awake and was just being incredibly lazy. So, when he got to within about two steps of my bed I leapt up and started shouting at him. I received a punch to the face for my troubles.

Lessons Learned?
Don't put an iron on your hand, don't stand on dead bees, don't claim that your brother shat himself when he was probably the cleanest he had ever been and when trying to be clever, avoid the fist that will inevitably head your way.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 20:09, Reply)
Definetly Darwinian
I've just recalled this one....

A bit after the hammer/nail/thumb incident, I decided to do some more DIY - I've had my "accident" so now I'm safe....

Or so I thought.

I needed to remove some cable tacks that were holding the phone wire back - No big deal - They had to come off, the wall painted and new ones put it. It's not rocket science dammit.

Anyway, I proceeded to remove them.

Now, directly below one of them (about halfway up the wall) is a socket.

You might see where this is going....

I touched the one above the socket - the metal bit.

"Bastard, that hurt"

That's right, some moron (not me) had put it through the live wire - how it hadn't shorted out the house, I don't know.

"Well, that's just daft." Thought I - "There's a lesson here"

"I'd better turn off the electricity and carefully remove the cable tack" - Is what I SHOULD have thought/done.

What I did think was "Did that really happen? I'd better touch it again"

"OUCH!" (Followed by much swearing).

That really bastard hurt. I know, I'll touch it again.

"F***, etc"

Yes, that's right I touched it twice, then held on a bit the third time just to check for actual pain. Of which there was a lot.

I was going to get off the ladder, but I realised that I was actually now lying on the ground - "Now, how did I get down here?".....

I turned the mains off at this point and was a LOT more careful the 4th time.


The lesson is - I'm shouldn't be allowed out of that padded room....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 19:19, Reply)
Holy stash
I think I was about 7 when me and a friend discovered a closed-off passageway behind the church opposite where I lived. We managed to wriggle through the bars and set off down the path to explore. The path was a bit overgrown and under dense tree cover, but we soon discovered it led along the back of the playgroup hut beside the church to a deep trench along the bottom of the vicar's garden.

On our way past the playgroup hut, just beside one of the supports for the hut was a stack of magazines, the kind of which we'd never seen before. We took them and hid out in the trench further along.

After thumbing through them in wonderment for a while, we were spotted by a bigger kid who came over and proclaimed that we were too young to be looking at these magazines and threatened to beat us up if we didn't clear off, so we did.

On the way back down the pathway with our tails between our legs we decided this wasn't fair. So we walked round to the pavement side of the vicar's garden. As we thought, being much older and bigger than us he was way easier to spot in the trench than we were.

We started waving madly towards the kid in the trench, in full view of the vicar's front window. As the vicar came out to see what was going on we scarpered, but the bigger kid, who was obviously getting more out of the mags than we were (they were pretty much lost on me at that age), hadn't noticed any of this until the vicar shouted over to him.

The look on the kid's face was priceless!

(Oh, and this is my first post! Yay!!)
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 18:45, Reply)
Wash and Go
When my mate Andy was at Uni in Leeds there was the usual problem of general pilfering that was traced back to one member of the house. A favourite was toiletry items such as shower gel and shampoo, not exactly Brinks Matt but annoying none the less. Anyway, my mate filled up 1/2 empty shampoo bottle with piss, shit and jizz and left it. That evening the female resident's young sister was over to visit and went to take a shower. "Don't use the Wash and Go", he shouts as she goes into teh bathroom. Moments later she lets out a blood curdling scream and starts crying; older sister comes to the rescue and is told what has happened. She proceeds to bollock my mate and tell him what a wanker he is, he protests, saying he had told her not to use it. Big sis points at lil sis who is stood there now in a towel with her stuff in her hands, including a hearing aid. "She's fucking deaf." Ooops.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 17:55, Reply)
Thanks Tarbin....
I just had a flashback and I hang my head in shame...


That taught me...

Well, obviously it didn't as I'd forgotten it and I don't need to know it anyway....

(, Tue 1 May 2007, 17:24, Reply)
Tenuous at best...
I was reading about modern art buffoon Jeff Koons - he who married Italo-Hungarian hard-core porn 'actress' La Cicciolina. Apparently they've diorced and she took the son (Ludwig). In the trial, he tried to prove she was an unfit mother by showing a video of her having sex with a snake. Let's imagine the cross-examination:

Koons: She's just a slag, m'lud.
Judge: Did you think she was a slag when you married her?
Koons: No.
Judge: But she was a porn star then, sucking off horses, yes?
Koons: Yes, m'lud.
Judge: And didn't you produce a book of hard-core pics featuring you and her in a variety of positions?
Koons: I did, m'lud.
Judge: And you decided to have a child with this horse-sucking porno queen who you'd photographed with your schlong up her ass?
Koons: Uh-huh.
Judge: So tell me - at what point did you decide she was an unfit mother?
Koons: Er, when she wanted to leave me...

Kunt. That taught him.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 17:14, Reply)
"Half the sum of the parralel sides
Times the distance between 'em
That is how one would find
The area of a trapezium"
So don't piss around trying to find it some other way!

That taught 'em (geometry)
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 17:07, Reply)
Ivan the Terrible...
Back when I had my driving test I was one of the rare creatures that opted to go for the test in their own car (a 1979 Ford Cortina... soooo beautiful...)

Anyways, as a result, my driving instructor couldn't come with me. It started badly when my instructor gasped when she saw the tester and started shaking her head... "what?" I enquired, "oh nothing".

Anyway, this was Ivan.

I did my test and apart from an only average parallel park, it was pretty much perfect. Get back to the centre, and he fails me. Sighting three stalls (?) and various other imaginary infringements.

So I took it all the way to the top and bitched and complained more than I had ever done in my life (I have since surpassed this in my dealings with Tiscali).

Upshot is, the fail stands, but I get my second test free. So I promptly booked it for three days later.

The days pass and I go again for my test. Different tester this time, and of course, I pass with about 98 percent. Smiling happily I go to get my photo taken...

And guess who's working the machine? It was Ivan.

I bet my smug grin really taught him a lesson.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 16:36, Reply)
A lesson they'll never forget
back in the day I had to sit in front of the class and read out stuff. I think it was some kind of punishment, but it went on for years and years. It seemed like every lesson I had to stand at the front of the class all on my own.

Then I realised I was the teacher, so I grew a crap beard and started wearing sandals and driving a 2cv.

(Apologies to any real teachers out there, I just made this up in attempt at a surreal type post.)
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 16:36, Reply)
WELL, I decided I didn't like psychology and that I was going to do shitely in it so I changed to history. I'm failing history and found out the "worst piece of work" I'd ever handed in for psychology was actually 2:1 material and cause of my other work I got a first in that module.

that'll fucking teach me to change bloody degrees half way through the year.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 16:06, Reply)
Christmas time is here...
one of my drinking buddies decided he was going to ditch the group and spend the night with some cnut because we are "too loud, and we break things when we get drunk".

it's true, but that's what drinking is all about.

so when he went out of town for a week, my two other drinking buddies and i decided to break into his apartment with about 35 rolls of christmas wrapping paper. it took us over two solid days of christmas wrapping, but we covered his entire apartment in wrapping paper. my favorite was the batman wrapping paper around his guitars.

that'll teach him to pussy out

btw, here's the video of what his room looked like...


quality isnt the best, but you get the idea.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 15:58, Reply)
When I was much younger,
my sister used to annoy me a lot.

So I pissed in her very special bottle of shampoo.

I have no idea if she ever found out or not.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 14:35, Reply)
I don't know how I could have predicted this mistake.....
On Sunday we had fish for tea. I stacked the dishwasher and waited until morning to put the breakfast things in and switched it on. It made an alarming noise and wouldn't fill.

HB : I'll fix it, or I'll get my mate Don in to look at it

He didn't fix it. So now I'm unloading said dishwasher and washing it by hand. Except there is still the smell of fish juice in the dishwasher.

I've just been in my kitchen and it stinks.

Phoned said HB, who is away on business. I said Don won't want to fix it smelling of fish, Comet are delivering the new one tomorrow and have said they will take it away.

"No" my husband roars down the phone, "I'll take it into the garage/workshop". Bear in mind this appliance is over 10 years old and I wouldn't even put it on Ebay.

It will join the old printer that hasn't worked in years, a Morris Minor belonging to his son in bits and all the other crap he's collected in the workshop, which will stink of fish. That'll teach you.

Happy days, darling........
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 14:28, Reply)
Fight! Fight! Fight!
In Year 6, my school was ruled by a nasty bully by the name of Johnny Clarke.*

Johnny Clarke was eight stone of pure malice who would give you a dead arm for not supporting Arsenal, not handing over your chocolate biscuits, not having the right trainers, etc etc. Every so often, somebody would rise to the challenge of fighting him, and surrounded by a jeering mob of ten-year-olds he would reduce them to a quivering mass of fear and subjugation.

So far however, he had never fought a girl.

Enter me. One morning during the summer of Year 6, Johnny and his gang greeted me with a Nazi salute as I walked into school (I'm Jewish). My intention to "beat him up" after school that day was well publicised, partly because I was a girl and partly because I was the smallest kid in the year group. It was a pretty good turnout - a bloodthirsty mob of salivating kids all waiting to watch an alligator annihilate a little fluffy bunny.

We had a referee in the form of another kid in our class and as soon as he signalled that the fight was to begin, I landed a kick to Johnny's groin, which was about chest height for me. He doubled over in agony whilst I took the opportunity to punch him in the head a few times. And then the most extraordinary thing happened: Johnny Clarke, skinhead in training and resident terroriser of all and sundry, ran away. We did a couple of laps of the playground, the enormous bully being chased by the smallest girl in the year whilst the rest of the year group pissed themselves laughing at him.

Finally I caught up with him and he launched himself at me, landing on my back. Seeing as he weighed about twice as much as me, it was only a matter of time before I crashed into the concrete in a bloody tangle of broken bones... It was at that point that the fearsome deputy head strode over to break it up, and of course at that particular moment I looked like a blameless victim.

So in addition to complete humiliation, Johnny got detention all week. That showed him.

*Names have been changed to protect the anonymity of the bloodthirsty, although actually I went to high school with him and he didn't turn out that bad at all in the end.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 14:25, Reply)
Idiot revenge
At university, there was this guy called Pete who I never really liked very much, and for whom I did a favour (I don't really remember what - something to do with computers, I think). He promised me a tenner, but after getting said favour instead "owed me one".

Later that week, me and some mates were on the way back from the pub when one guy realised we were about to pass Pete's room. So he threw a bottle through his window. This was completely out of character and it took me a few seconds to realise what had happened and leg it.

Next morning, Pete comes in to lectures saying about how some bastard had heaved a bottle through his neighbour's window for no reason.

So, I guess that taught the hapless neighbour a valuable lesson: never live next door to someone like Pete.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:44, Reply)
I am reliably informed by my family that there is a video of this, but I've never seen it. The only reason I know it occurred is because my family remind me all the time
My parents split up when I was about 3, and my Dad didn't waste much time before getting with an old friend. It is at her parent's house that we find your hero: me. Aged 5 1/2
It was the second time we'd gone there, and I had made friends with two of their three dogs, big sodding labradors. The other, a young golden retriever, completely ignored me, preferring instead to beg for food all day.
One day we went on a family walk out in the country where all three dogs went mental. They were bouncing about, jumping all over the stubble left in the fields and generally running about like mad things.
I, being small, was happily playing with my little brothers when suddenly the retriever smacked into me and caused me to fly about five feet.
I was pissed. I walked to the hedge and grabbed as big a stick as I could. I then went back to my family (now filming) and waited for the dog to charge back at me for a second time.
When it did, I wound my arm back and twatted it on the nose. The dog looked confused, then ran off back to the house.
Me and the dog are now friends, and every time I go to visit my stepmum's parents I end up spending half my time sitting with my back to it. The dog also howls when I leave.

Moral of the story: twat bitches on the nose. They'll love you afterwards
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:44, Reply)

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